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Page 528
down the hall, completely undecided whether he would take her in his arms to kiss or to strangle, but sure that the place for this flaming virago was in his arms.
"What do you here?" Alinor continued furiously as he came forward. "For very shame, I should think you would flee my eyes."
"What the devil are you talking about?" Ian asked, reaching for her.
"You call me a liar by indirection. Are you so innocent of that?" Alinor spat, holding him off. "Did you not connive with your beloved clan brother and my treacherous castellan to use me as bait to draw Lord Gwenwynwyn into war?"
Ian caught her hands and captured them. The rage of relief, an emotion very similar to that of a mother who embraces a child with one hand while beating it for engaging in dangerous mischief with the other, had gone out of him. He was too tried now to be roused to fury by anything else, and too relieved that Alinor seemed to have been restored to her normal, unreasonable self, to be angry at anything she said. Despite her struggles, he drew her against him.
"Do not be such a fool. The last thing I want is any war in Wales of sufficient import to interest the king. Do you think I wish to be summoned by both my overlords to fight on each side? On my honor, I have not acted in concert with Llewelyn on any matter of any kind since before I left for France last year. As for Sir Peter, I do not wish to tell you his tale now. You are too cross and would act in haste."
It was a most unsatisfactory embrace. Ian's armor was filthy and he stank. The rings of his mail bruised Alinor's arms and back. Nonetheless, she grew quiet. Ian might refuse to speak, might act without speaking, but he would not lie, and what he said about the situation he would be in if real war came to Wales was true. She raised her face to him.

 
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